So I got this idea from AnaWritesRandom. There's a trend where you listen to this song that's kinda hard to decipher and whatever you hear is how you died in a past life or something like that.

I heard:

Somebody told me to go back

Conquer

Let go

Help her

So mixing that with the random soldier, poet, king quiz result (I got king, surprisingly-)... here is the fantasy I've created for this past self of mine.

-

The sky was beginning to darken, the bright fire on the horizon making way for the crisp, cool indigo of night. A cold breeze cut through the air, the wind barely disturbing the silent night of a kingdom that was slowly drifting into dreams. Only a few late merchants and passersby wandered the winding streets below, a few bundled up in their coats with the slow turning of new winter.

    Clear, cold eyes swept the land, observant and dispassionate, icy as the season's passing. A warm cloak shifted in the breeze, colored a deep, royal purple that portrayed the wearer's high status. She didn't utter a word, barely moved to the point that she looked like a stone sentinel, besides the occasional, careful sway of her head as she shifted her field of view. Her hands gently rested on the railing of the balcony, high above the ground and leading from the magnificent, towering palace that loomed over the city. She seemed deep in thought, a distant gleam in her eye as she gazed into the horizon. War was at hand, as it had been for the past fifteen years. She wanted to think of how the following weeks would go, how the attacks planned would occur.

    It may have been because of this absentmindedness that she jumped slightly at a gentle knock of the door behind her. She turned, her frigid eyes wavering past the lavishly luxurious bedroom to the white door of the far wall.

    "You may enter," she called, loud enough for the person standing on the other side to hear. Slowly the door swung on its hinges, a round, timid face peeking through from the hall.

    "Empress Ryne?" the woman addressed the one at the balcony, opening the door farther so as to reveal her uniform. A palace servant, and one Ryne knew - her name was Lyla, she recalled.

    "Yes, what is it, Lyla?" Ryne pondered, turning and facing her. While Ryne stood with her chin slightly tilted upwards and her torso poised, Lyla had a less regal posture, slightly hunched and bent over a bit in due respect. She played with something in her hands with a nervous demeanor - a scroll of parchment, a golden seal stamping it shut.

    "T-this letter arrived this evening, Your Highness," Lyla stammered slightly. She looked to the floor as she held the envelope up for the empress to see.

    Ryne glided across the room from the balcony, quiet steps bringing her close to Lyla before she took the scroll. She nodded to Lyla, and dismissed her without a word before opening the scroll and reading its contents.

-

Addressed to the ruler of Farrenale, Empress Ryne Meraliss,

    Even in this time of war, I sincerely wish this message finds you well. The high leaders of Alazartia have, in their wishes to peacefully work out this endless to-and-fro battle, proposed to talk out a peace treaty to end this disagreement between the kingdoms. All wish for it to end, and I know that, deep down, you do as well, even if it was you who declared war.
    Should you accept this proposition, please send us a response by the solstice of deep winter, and we will, after two days, if said response delivers on time, meet you at the Birch Gorge Clearing by sunfall. We intend no harm in this meeting, though you may bring any company you like if it will make you more comfortable in our presence. I, myself, will represent the kingdom there, and I assure you that I will come alone. Should you send someone in your place, that is perfectly fine as well.

    We wish you the best, and hope you accept this proposition of peace.

With best regards,
O. Reveraz
Royal Scribe and Representative of the Kingdom of Alazartia

-

    There was a way to this hand of wording that caused Ryne to almost double take, the curves of the handwriting almost familiar to her. Too familiar. But she shrugged it off - she'd received messages from Alazartia before, she most likely had seen the handwriting once before. Although the scribe's name was one of new origins - O. Reveraz. They must have appointed a new one. And also the Alazartian Representative? Intriguing.

    A few minutes of thought before Ryne, closing the scroll and keeping it in her hands, traveled down the halls of the palace to where her own scribe would be.

    The scribe was, indeed, at his desk in the library, seemingly reading a book. He does have more free time than my other servants. I'll allow it. "Jarron?"

    The scribe, Jarron, looked up through his reading glasses, nodding his head to the empress and bookmarking his page before setting the book aside. "Greetings, Your Majesty."

    "I need you to send a letter to the royals of Alazartia regarding this peace treaty they wish to discuss," Ryne told him. Immediately the scribe pulled a piece of parchment from the drawer of his desk, taking a quill from the jar next to him and dipping it into an inkwell before beginning to neatly write out the letter. "Tell them that I will be meeting them at Birch Gorge Clearing on the terms they describe. I, myself, will come, alone, in two days' time. Should their representative cease to arrive, I will take it as an offense and war will go on."

    Jarron gave her a small nod, continuing the letter for a good minute or so before gently blowing the ink to dry it, setting the quill away and sealing the letter with a purple emblem - a lone, regal-standing wolf. "And I shall send this on its way to Alazartia, My Liege?"

    Ryne nodded. Under her cloak, she subtly brushed the hilt of her concealed, silver dagger. "Yes. To Alazartia it will go.

    "Of course, Your Majesty."

-

    Birch Gorge Clearing was a small but open area deep within the Border Forest at the edges of the rival kingdoms, overlooking a large canyon known simply as Birch Gorge. There was a chill to the air as Ryne emerged from the trees on the west end of the open clearing, to which her response was a subtle shifting of the jacket she wore. Instead of her usual royal garments, she wore something slightly easier to move in but still presentable to a meeting.

    Ryne scanned the clearing. The representative was not present just yet - she was early. So Ryne, after noting the absence, drifted around across the manmade path of soft dirt and sat down upon a fallen, white and black birch tree near the edge of the opening. From her seat, she could view over Birch Gorge, grass and plants running down flat areas along the sides of the canyon until they became sparse and disappeared into the vast bottom. The quiet sounds of peaceful nature brought a bit of silence to Ryne, helped her clear her mind and focus on her thoughts.

    Her thoughts brought her to a picture, a painting hanging on the wall in the palace grand hall. One of her family. Her parents, the former king and queen of Farrenale, Ryne, and her two sisters, Dione and Orla. She remembered them both without difficulty, though their names each brought different feelings to her heart. Dione was her eldest sibling, a role model to Ryne, always caring and loving and kind. Orla was... distant, to say the least, and never showed any interest in ruling the kingdom. She was always the reader. Dione and Ryne would listen to their parents' lectures, and all the while Orla would have her nose stuck in a book without a care.

    Ryne remembered the day Dione died, clear as crisp day in her mind.

    She had to swallow the emotion rising in her throat to keep a tear from rolling down her cheek.

    Ryne suddenly snapped out of her trance when a newcomer entered the clearing. She wore a hood, embroidered by the Alazartian coat of arms, and their face at the moment was concealed. Visible was dark, chocolate-colored hair that teased her shoulders on each side of her neck. She bore no weapon, no means of harm, but her face just wasn't quite visible. As Ryne stood from her seat, the stranger took off their hood and met Ryne's suddenly shocked gaze with crystal blue eyes.

    Ryne stared. And stared. And stared. Her eyes had to be deceiving her. It's not possible, she disappeared years ago!

    But still Ryne couldn't help but stutter in shock,

    "O-Orla?!"

    Orla huffed softly, straightening her cloak without faze. "Hello, Ryne. Good to see you well."

    The empress was speechless. "But... how are-"

    "Where did you think I went?" Orla rolled her eyes.

    "I... personally thought you were dead."

    Her sister laughed. "Really? Am I that weak in your eyes?"

    Ryne said nothing.

    "So, shall we get this meeting over with as quickly as possible?" Orla suggested.

    Still Ryne was silent.

    "Ryne?"

    She blinked, exhaling. "I was worried sick, worried sick about you. First Dione, and then suddenly you vanished without a trace, without telling us you were okay."

    "Oh." Orla raised her eyebrows. "Worried, huh? Funny. I don't remember you ever caring about my existence."

    "I-"

    "No, don't make an excuse," Orla snapped. Her hands curled into shaking fists, her anger suddenly boiling over. "Don't pretend you ever thought kindly of me, thought of me at all! You didn't care. You didn't. Dione cared. All you wanted was the throne, the throne that, if anyone's, should've been her's. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it was you who killed her."

    Ryne stared at her sister in shock at the outburst. Orla's eyes followed her arm, which now rested over the hilt of a sharp, silver dagger concealed under her coat. Her gaze narrowed, her mouth opening ever so slightly in a silent gasp.

    "So." She looked Ryne dead in the eyes. "Are my suspicions true?"

    She couldn't hold it anymore. Ryne lunged, unsheathing the dagger and swinging it in an arc across Orla's arm in one swift motion. Orla, caught off guard, stumbled to the side, pulling two small, twin blades from the sheaths under her cloak.

    "My actions are none of your concern!" Ryne snapped with malice.

    "Ryne, answer the dang question!" Orla demanded, gripping her daggers. "Did you kill Dione?!"

    Ryne didn't speak. She froze, her chest heaving as she struggled to keep tears from her eyes. Don't show anything, don't show anything, don't show anything...

    But her silence was all the answer Orla needed. "You did. You killed your own sister. It wasn't some street thug, it was you!"

    "I had to!" Ryne lunged again, swinging her blade again at Orla. Orla blocked the offense with her daggers, forcing the blade inches from her face. Ryne stared down at her, boiling fury raging in her eyes as Orla kept the sharp edge from cutting her.

    "Why?" Orla demanded. "Why was it that you murdered your own sister and pretended to feel remorse?"

    "I feel remorse!"

    "Oh, do you now?"

    "You don't understand!"

    "I understand perfectly, you power-hungry psychopath!"

That final push was enough to throw Ryne off the edge.

Literally.

    Ryne stumbled as Orla ducked away, tripping over the uneven ground and losing her footing over the gorge's edge. She shrieked as her feet found open air, her hands flailing and finding the cliff's edge. Her dagger clanked as it failed to meet the ground, descending down into the open gorge. Orla couldn't help but cry out in distress, beginning to run to her sister's aid.

    But she stopped, stopped just feet from Ryne's hands.

    Ryne clutched the clifftop for dear life, fingers digging into the dirt and her eyes wide with panic. "O-Orla! Orla, help me!"

    Orla couldn't speak. Her thoughts raced with decision, the clock in her mind ticking with every second that Ryne was on the edge. Ryne was a murderer, wanting nothing but to have power over every aspect of her "perfect" little world. But... she was her sister. The sister she grew up with, and, although she hadn't paid much attention to her, hadn't directly wronged her.

    The face of Dione came into her mind, pale, eyes closed and flowers covering the grotesque puncture in her chest. She had cried that day. Ryne had cried, everyone had mourned the loss of the first in line to the throne. Ryne had stepped up, claiming it to be in memory of her sister.

    Was it all a lie?

    "Orla!"

    Orla stared at Ryne, helpless there on the cliff. Stand by, and let her fall, or save her? She couldn't decide. Each second passing was a second closer to Ryne's demise, precious seconds that could not be spared.

    A shocked cry erupted from Ryne's throat, her hands suddenly losing their grip and meeting open air.

    "Ryne!"

    Orla reached her hand out, grasping at the growing space between herself and her sister. But no such luck could be granted. She watched as Ryne fell, fell farther, farther, farther, that panicked storm in her eyes calming to a whirlwind of hatred as she met Orla's desperate gaze.

    Orla watched as she hit the ground a mile below, her details too small to make out the gore of the impact.

    She breathed in. Breathed out. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

    And eventually Orla burst into tears.

-

2312 words. Shorter than my other short stories because I need this to take less than ten minutes to read (I'm using this for speech Club, hence why I wrote it).

Pretty proud of this one, I hope you enjoy it :D